


Life In Your Hands

by KingLoptr (Aestridr)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Clone Sex, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Introspection, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Magic, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Loki, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Protective Thor, Self-Harm, Self-cest, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, eventual thorki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestridr/pseuds/KingLoptr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His clones become his outlets, and his outlets become his undoing. He truly believes that not even Thor could save him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Clearer warnings: Loki is basically abusing himself, both mentally and physically, multiple times in this story. In addition, if mentions of eating habits and self-starvation are triggering to you, please be cautious ~ It's not too, too prominent but it is there. ~
> 
> \- [no beta, any errors are my own] -

~~~~

Thor returned, one beautiful and celebratory Asgardian day, as was naturally unavoidable.

The people drew to him like moths to flame, like thirsty, desert wandering throngs to water, and Loki felt himself recede, automatically shrinking into the shadows again straight away. 

Even after Thor's shock/disbelief/overflow of joy at seeing him alive again when he revealed himself in private. Even after he'd gained most of Asgard's silent cooperation with his presence when the truth of his temporary rule had been exposed (though he was sure he must only be tolerated because of Thor). Even when Odin, in his prolonged sleep, was not there to impose judgement of any kind, and he'd been free to rebuild his own place in the realm without interference. It all felt like nothing. Rather, he tried to tell himself he felt nothing.

When Thor had seen him, despite the Thunderer's obvious overflow of various emotion at seeing him alive and well, there was also so much anger at his betrayal that there were severe storms for two weeks straight. Loki had never directly had anything to do with repairing that anger and hurt, but they merely fell back into old habits soon, relatively, and over some time Thor was perfectly capable of letting his grudges and pain fade until they were only faint scars that Loki seldom caught glimpse of anymore. Thor always had been too good at forgiveness, and stubbornly skilled at self-healing.

Loki was quite the opposite. His ended rule and Thor's return, and Asgard's reaction, had ripped down everything he'd attempted, everything he'd built, everything he'd always ever aimed for.

Everything he was and would ever become seemed a waste of time and space. Thor moved on as he always did, Thor did his duties and was ever the honorable man, warrior, true king, and he had claimed the throne...and it was as if time rewound. Loki found his life's efforts void, and it only left him feeling undone and lacking in their wake, not a thing to show for every second of pain and careful planning he'd chosen to endure for them.

Thor took over as the ruler Asgard always wished him to be, and Loki wordlessly let it happen, and eventually it seemed he was forgotten...forgotten by everyone but Thor himself, and Thor was the last person Loki wanted to be close to.  It hurt too much. 

Thor never had understood that his mere existence oft-times made Loki a non-person by default. He could not even see it that way when it was explained to him, and Loki despised him for it.

Loki shut himself inside his chambers daily now, locked in with his studies and magic and memories and regrets, and allowed all of the rotten history built up over recent years to poison the very air he breathed.

~~

The first time he realized that there was something wrong with him, that is, more-so than the norm, it was when he'd caught himself in a mirror and steadily realized he hadn't eaten in a week, and before that, only sparingly for an entire month. The results were clear now, and his own reflection repulsed him; at least in years before, he'd always been able to say that as long as his Jotun heritage was invisible, he had a pride in his appearance. He couldn't even say that anymore as he stared at his skin, sunless and dull, his frame not nearly supporting his clothing in the way it used to. Everything he wore fell awkwardly on him now, too roomy in a way that made him feel more 'nothing' than he already was.

He turned away from the mirror, but then called upon his inner stores of magic, bringing forth a clone of himself in order to get a better look.

This was a common thing for him in the past—he used to appraise his own looks before making public appearances by personally checking every angle of himself from a third person perspective; such was his luxury as a master of seidr. Many sleepless nights he'd spent, hunched over tomes older than he was, using up energy and splaying magic through his fingers until they burned and twitched, breaking into forbidden stores of knowledge meant to be lost forever, all in order to _improve._ Just to be better than before at the one thing he had remaining, and the one thing that kept the essence of his mother from fading away and getting lost in the mess of his psyche. Despite all the time he spent feeling like a useless ghost of his former self these days, he could still have a complete control over this, his magic. By now it was as good as life-blood for him, and too many times his skills became his only solace in the midst of near-constant internal battles with himself and his past.

~

The rumors of his scarily developing ability to create animated copies were no doubt the source of Asgardian childhood fright tales by now. They could become solid or untouchable or some unnerving in-between, they could speak, they could exist for longer and longer each time he practiced with them.

Thor himself could not tell the difference now, even if he touched one, Loki mused.

Here in the dusty afternoon light from the barely parted thick curtains, he peered at this sickly excuse of a once formidable king and doubted he'd made his present duplication correctly. He had, though. He supposed that this unconscious punishment he'd been doing to himself was still quite deserving. He stared and stared, for who knew how long, and not even pride in his ability could keep away his mounting disgust and frustration; it rose like bile in his throat and it was all he could do to resist choking the stupid thing.

When he could bear to look at himself no longer, he stopped resisting.

His hands shot out with a speed that alarmed him, because it was  _impatience_ . Closing his fingers around the thin neck of his duplicate sent a rush through him he hadn't felt since he'd last killed a man, and he  _squeezed_ , hard. At first there was no struggle, but the solid clones he crafted were very well made, and had a form of artificial intelligence that allowed them to be convincing in whichever deceit they were charged with. This clone began to show panic, face going even whiter than the sick pallor it had initially spawned with, fear welling up in the form of tears in its eyes, short gasping sounds becoming more and more labored, pained as Loki choked the 'life' from it with a cold, steady strength and a wide-eyed, enraged glare.

He ignored the clone's pathetic grabs and clawings at his wrist to relieve the pressure, listened but did not yield to the clone's eventual strangled sounds of pain and protest, and by the time the clone was weakening and closing its eyes, Loki found his hand was shaking with the force with which he was squeezing. He felt the structure of the clone's neck give way under his fingers, and it's body went suddenly, startlingly limp.

Scaring himself, finally, he released his grip suddenly, and found himself gasping for deeper breaths, fearing dark bruises blooming on his own throat, reeling from the adrenaline, staring at the clone crumple to the floor. Loki sucked in a few sharp gulps of air and eventually covered his mouth with his hand in stunned silence, and took a good long look at what he'd look like if he were laying dead on the floor with his throat crushed, before the clone eventually, mercifully, vanished in a sheen of glowing pale green.

Hot tears dripped to the empty spot it left, and Loki didn't move for several minutes, he only stood there and wondered why that had felt so good to 'kill himself', even behind his body's present reaction of fear and trauma. He deeply envied the clone's ability to cease existing.

He cataloged the clear awareness that possibly there was something _very_ wrong with his mind, but he knew he would not try to identify it or fix it. This brand of deep self-loathing had been festering within him for far too long, and he truthfully felt it irreversible. Without the throne to distract him he was nothing. And before, when he'd had the throne but not Thor to distract him he was still well on his way to becoming nothing. Yet he did not want to allow Thor in long enough to attempt to fix him either. Thor was salt in the wound, always had been. He'd tell himself this until it stopped aching to think it.

~~~~

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is really mean to one clone but really nice to the next one.

~~~~

Loki didn't emerge from his rooms that evening to eat dinner, though Thor sent for him several times and then came to the door personally, calling through it until Loki hastily slung enough spasms of seidr energy at the walls to soundproof them. He certainly ignored the throbbing pangs of hunger in the pit of his stomach lest they drive him to the mead stores in his cabinets just to make it all stop, and he still avoided the space on the floor where the clone had fallen even though it had been hours earlier. But his fingers were itching to cast more magic. He didn't dare, for he feared what he'd do with it for some sorry attempt at sick entertainment/self-punishment.

~

It wasn't until two days later that he emerged from his quarters. Thor watched him closely from a short distance for awhile, greatly concerned, then steadily, diligently attempted to speak with him, and make him eat something more substantial than just a small handful of meager fruit. Loki would do no such thing.

“But—Brother, I fear you are very unwell. Do you need medicine? Healers?”

Thor was steadfast in his efforts to fix him, and Loki ignored him so thoroughly that Thor could not read an expression of agreement or disagreement on his face. When he'd done what little catching up he was obligated to do as Thor's “advisor” (on paper; he mostly could not be bothered to serve the public in any way lately, and did not feel capable of doing such at any rate), Loki again closed himself off and locked himself inside his bedroom.

The pull in his mind to make another clone had been growing exponentially, a tugging curiosity every hour he'd remained in solitude, and once he'd presently been staring pensively out the window through a thin separation of curtain for several minutes, he finally lost patience and turned around, lifting his hands, magicking a solid image of himself once again out of thin air.

This one was not himself as he was now, this self was younger; how he'd looked when he'd fallen from the bifrost. He looked healthy though. Still youthful with a touch of innocence, lively, clever, bright-eyed...

He back-handed it so hard it cried out and stumbled a few feet.

“You  _petulant child_...” He hissed at it as it held it's face and the angry red mark there from the hit, and when he took a few steps closer to it, it flinched and shuffled backward. “Come here.”

He commanded it, grabbing its upper arm and yanking it forward, then forced it to let go of its cheek. It gave him a fearful stare of 'why are you doing this', and Loki's glare softened, just slightly. He found himself grateful it did not use its perfectly fine ability to speak, as this would have frightened him at the moment, if he were honest, and he did not quite want to dismiss the thing just yet. He hesitated before lifting his own hand to the reddened cheek, and then he only stroked.

“You, my past self...if you had known you'd ruin everything and would have nothing to show for it in the end, would you have made sure you died even after surviving your fall?”

Loki's current mentality had him answering 'yes', and so, his will installed into the clone made it nod slowly.

“You should have, my Mirror.” He reached to a nearby table and lifted one of his throwing knives from it, handed the knife to the clone. “You should have taken a venom-edged knife and ended your pathetic existence.”

The clone held the knife wordlessly and only stared downward, pathetically forlorn expression making Loki want to literally see red. He sat down in the chair by his study table, still watching the clone's face for reactions or personality.

“Do it now.” He ordered.

He watched clone blood pour as the knife entered the thing's chest, and still watched blank faced as this hurting younger image of himself fell to its knees, then spasmed in a fruitless struggle for imagined life on the floor, then vanished. No real blood, no real struggle.

Loki stared at the knife laying there with no gore on it and sighed, then frowned, then wondered what he'd wished to see at all.

~

He fell into a fitful, guilt-ridden sleep that night. His nightmares were vivid and prominent, and as a sorceror, a dream of particular potency always had the potential to manifest itself in reality. With this knowledge looming threateningly within his subconscious, he startled awake with constant night terrors, thinking there to be blood flowing from unseen wounds, seeing formless shadows creeping along his ceiling. After a particularly hard-to-fight terror that the clone he'd killed earlier had come back outside of his will to return the favor, he startled fully awake in a cold sweat, gasping and shaking, glancing about for magic gone awry. He promptly decided there was no sleep to be had this night. He still felt the phantom pains of a bleeding heart, and yet his thoughts immediately wandered to Thor.

He found himself curious if Thor were fast asleep in his vast, kingly quarters, dreaming peaceful dreams without a care in the world save his love for his citizens and his realm.

Loki sat up and still shook in his covers, cursing himself for ever believing himself to be a 'good king'. He truly felt no love for the actual people, only the idea of them and the idea of leading them; he felt a love for acknowledgment, even those moments when his name was not attached to his deeds or victories. But eventually the societal poison he felt himself to currently personify would've seeped through to the population, he supposed. He could not see how a long term rule could have become anything but chaos and ruin, fronted by someone so unstable as he now knew himself to be. And, despite his remaining surges of vitriolic spite for the current situation, he still could only thank Thor in the recesses of his thoughts, simply for returning.

He hated that even when it destroyed everything he'd been yearning for, Thor's presence was still a rescue of some sort. He briefly wandered if it would have been a more genuine rescue had Thor seen him alive, truly understood the level of deceit there, and killed him again, tiring of his games once and for all eternity.

He thought of Thor sleeping peacefully, and wondered if Thor felt any sort of guilt over pushing his not-brother aside, or regret for not exacting a harsher punishment than simply letting him succumb to obscurity. After all, even rising from the dead was not a good deed, if motivated by a childish reach for status. Loki's “noble death” was null and void, and Thor undoubtedly hated him for it—No.

No, none of that seemed right. Had Thor ever even thought to show him anything but constant, unconditional acceptance?

By now, Loki was shaking with insecurity rather than the aftershocks of disrupted sleep, and for a long while he'd known the truth; he was not quite capable of telling the difference between Thor being dismissive of him, and himself wallowing in self-pity or withdrawing of his own volition when he simply could not stand to be near Thor an instant longer.

Because of Thor, he had ceased to have the ability to perceive affection. He'd blocked it out for so long that he wasn't sure he could take it in or even recognize it very well. The shell he'd erected around himself seemed to filter away every ray of sunshine Thor could ever hope to muster for him, until he could barely feel warm from it any longer. It hurt to be alone in the dark.

~

Loki's eyes had long since adjusted to the dim, dusty lighting of his room, the wide spaces in it illuminated subtly by moonlight (nighttime was the only time he let his curtains fully part), and seidr-fueled firelight hovering in the corners. He gradually felt himself calm down, his heart-rate evening out. He was still thinking about warmth, and being unable to feel it come from someone, and finally, if Thor were not alone in his chambers after all.

Loki sank back down into bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling for a few moments.

“ _Perhaps Thor_ _saw_ _fit to find a bed warmer.”_

His hands flexed, fingers clutching at his sheets unconsciously as if to keep himself from going to have a look. Upon Thor's return, his brief tryst with the mortal Jane had ended, and until now Loki hadn't given thought to how Thor was dealing with her absence. Thor seemed to do just fine alone, but Loki couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he had never understood his golden brother stooping so low as to align himself with a silly human girl in such a romantic manner. He unapologetically felt a deep-seated joy that the entire thing had ended, and really, Thor had outwardly displayed no longing or desire for any intimate company since.

Loki himself realized it had been decades and decades since he'd lusted for anything besides power and prominence. After spending far too long thinking about this, Loki knew what he would end up doing, if only just to have this one thing that he presumed Thor was not currently having.

“ _I am fairly certain Thor does not have a bedmate--”_ He sat himself up slowly, and spoke to the physical manifestation of need which he had now brought to life. “But I myself am never  _truly_  alone, yes?”

The only image he could bring himself to fathom was an idealized vision of himself. Heavily lidded gaze, alluringly quiet, nearly disturbing elegance. He reached out to this clone, clad in nothing but a mid-thigh length tunic of sheer red silk, and he pulled it gently into bed with him by the wrist.

“There you are...perfect.” He purred in gentle lauding as he laid it back in the cushions, then eagerly sat up fully to admire it. It only lay there, hair cascading in long midnight waves nearly to its waist, splayed out beautifully on the richly colored pillows. The body's form was thin, but healthy, long pale planes of exposed skin, flawless legs, impeccable tone--effortlessly exquisite.

Unable to resist for a second more, Loki reached out to slip the flimsy fabric away from his Image's shoulder, and glanced up to watch the shining green gaze stare back at him, waiting and willing, only there to serve as pleasure, and knowing so.

“I will not hurt you this time.” He uttered quietly, even if it wasn't necessary.

Once he'd laid himself down beside the beautifully blushing clone, he took to caressing the soft hair and pulling the image of himself into his arms intimately, blinking at it hesitantly, wondering if he were truly about to do this, but then ultimately falling prey to the lightly parted soft lips that waited for him. It started as a curious press, testing the waters, tasting his healthier days on the clone's skin, and soon his hand was clutching, tangling in the long black hair while he delved deeper into his willing companion's mouth with his tongue. Feeling the warm wetness of another mouth opening up for him was an experience he hadn't had in so long that it went straight into coiled up ecstasy at the base of his spine, enthralling, tempting, delicious,  _and he was still so hungry--_

He magicked away his own sparse clothing in his eagerness, and straddled his double, delighting in the pleased smile that resulted on that gorgeous face, and his pure enjoyment was sharply contrasted by the raw  _need_ his body was exhibiting when he greedily ripped right through the flimsy red fabric. He dimly pictured it to be the too-red vibrance of Thor's cape, ripping in half from the wrenching of his clenched fists but below it was his own perfect,  _perfect_ bare skin.

The clone arched upward into his following touch, his fingers tracing clavicle, a hand soothingly pressed to its chest and roaming downward to lower abdomen, and its kissed-crimson mouth opened and produced an audible moan for him. While before, audible sound from clones tended to unnerve him if they were alone, this time it was nothing but a source of awe, and every single definition of self-gratifying.

So  _touch-deprived_  this one was.

So very, very touch-deprived they both were.

Loki was unsure if he'd ever before had the pleasure of being virtually one mind with a sexual partner, but he could feel every pulse of sensation in tandem now while they thrust together slowly, reveling in the harmonious slide and undulation of two bodies pressed close, the tension and mutual attention, drowning one another in heated kisses and fevered caresses. He could just almost feel each contact with this clone's skin as if he were on the receiving end, even as he was the one doing the giving. He was entranced, in the midst of increasingly more orgasmic throes of fulfillment with each passing minute, until it was nearly overstimulating.

The clone wore nothing underneath the ripped up red, and Loki indulgently gripped upper thighs, absorbed the needy shudder he'd caused, and he parted his duplicate's legs gently, wedging himself between, rewarding more sighs of pleasure with tender suckling along the brazenly presented skin of the duplicate's neck.

It clung to him and writhed wantonly against him as if he were everything, the entire world. It was true after all—and Loki was surprised at the added arousal he felt just knowing it could tell that its entire existence was dependent on him.  _Made_ for him. Made so specifically for him, that Loki found the clone's cock already hard and flushed hot from the beginning, begging to be touched with Loki's mouth or hand instead of the animalistic thrusting against one another they had been doing thus far.

“No...I just want to take you from the inside. You can come from that alone, can you not, darling?” He murmured, ravenously watching the delicately translucent beads of pre-come forming at the head of his stunning Image's prick. His eyes drifted lower. He hadn't forgotten a single detail of this, and his sex-clone's perfect, tight little hole already glistened with a generous amount of luxurious oil. He wished to feel himself inside it before it grew too stimulated—if it were to come, he was unsure it would be able to maintain form for any penetration.

He wasn't done yet, he didn't want to be done. He couldn't have this one disappear and leave him alone so soon.

It was reaching for him, and stammered its first word. “P-please...?”

Loki immediately bent forward, running soothing hands along its sides, and he laid himself between the welcoming legs for more intimate kisses, next nipping playfully along jawline and earlobe, listening to the breathy giggles that followed. He finally moved his hand down between their closeness to press just one finger into his Toy's waiting entrance, and he grinned with pleasant surprise when the clone gripped his shoulders, driving its hips down in one smooth motion to get all of the finger inside him at once. It bit its lip and moaned an incomprehensible sound for more. Loki wondered if it completely forgot its words already. He wondered if this was a true representation of how he'd act when underneath someone else--it had been so long, he'd truly forgotten. As if it could hear him think (which Loki ultimately supposed it must be able to), the clone gave a frustrated grumble and worked its hips, wanting movement and craving deeper touch.

“Shhh...” He kissed it silent, and focused on his hand, pushing another finger insistently inside, to the tune of much grateful squirming and happy, quick breaths. When he pulled away from the kiss, keeping his fingers stretching and moving fluidly in and out to keep the clone open and well prepared, he saw the hazy smile on its face and didn't recognize his own features in it anymore. It looked so...carefree. So at ease. He didn't recognize happiness on his own face.

He looked away before he got the chilling impression that this was a stranger, and focused down, sat up a bit more to kneel between his double's legs spread wide for him. He pushed his fingers harder, listening to the lewd squelching the oil made, watched the clone's cock twitch, painfully hard, dribbling creamy drops of liquid to its stomach the longer they drew this out.

When he could stand it no longer and the mere concept of the sheer level of narcissistic eroticism had driven him to almost painfully stiff arousal, he quickly tossed the long white legs over his shoulders, bent the clone in half and shoved himself inside, stuffing it to the brim in one go, biting back a howl of gratification so hard he split his lip, even while the clone below him let loose an unabashed cry of ecstasy.

“Hush--” He gasped the command, and he smacked his hand over that lustful mouth and just  _moved,_ pistoned his hips sharply, pounding into his partner relentlessly and he  _loved it._ The clone only moaned all the more arduously at being hushed, and Loki could feel the surge of building climax within him already at each long thrust into his own tight, clenching heat. It was beyond strange to know that he was a snug fit within himself, and  _oh_ he could almost feel the stretch, the burn, the intense sensation of being just  _filled up tight_. He whimpered, keeping his hand over the clone's mouth so maybe it wouldn't whimper back in reply, but it did, and continued to fervently claw at his back in desperation and meet his every thrust at the peak.

If it was this good, then he would have to do this all again, and next time he wanted to feel what the body below him felt. Unashamed, unfettered, impaled on a cock and being rutted into mercilessly, unable to help holding on and clinging to a benefactor for more, more,  _still more._ _  
_

He couldn't give more. His own lust was insatiable and so, the clone mirrored that. He came with his forehead resting to his double's, staring into his own blissed out gaze.

Then, it moved up and kissed Loki as Loki filled it with seed, moved its legs, tightened them around Loki's waist to hold every bit inside. It spilled between them with its moans muffled in Loki's mouth, and its arms clung so tightly around Loki's torso that he felt he couldn't properly breathe.

He collapsed, panting for breath when they were finally able to stop rocking back and forth against each other, chasing their coupled waves of dwindling orgasm, and he rolled onto his side, the clone still in his arms, and their legs tangled together hopelessly. He watched the rose colored flush on its cheeks and watched its breathing slow to a contented pace. The green eyes blinked at him once, twice, exhaustedly. It was tired. If this were a real person he would fall asleep.

“No, no, don't--” He remembered his magical stamina too late, but it was already depleted. The clone sighed once more while it stared up at him from his embrace, and then it became transparent.

It faded from Loki within seconds, and Loki was staring at the opposite wall.

The room was cold, dark, empty.

His chest ached, and it was over and he felt hollow, as if nothing had ever happened.

He wondered if Thor had a bedwarmer. He wondered if Thor would laugh if he knew what Loki had done to get one. He didn't wonder if Thor would think it pathetic, he already knew it was and why should Thor think otherwise? It was further than pathetic, it was disturbing and most likely sick.

Hot tears dripped to the empty spot where the clone had lay.

~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~

He couldn't stop seeing it, thinking about it, tasting it.

Days and days passed, and he felt himself too afraid to make another clone, despite the fact that he desperately wanted to; at night he swore he could hear echoes of the soft, pleased moans the clone made underneath him—the sound of himself in a truly blissful state. It haunted him now, knowing that he'd enjoyed both seeing images of himself killed, and images of himself well-fucked and happy alike.

“ _Why could I not have created a clone in someone else's likeness...anyone's but mine?”_

His stomach made a loud protest of hunger, and he sighed in exasperation. He did not particularly  _want_ to eat very often any longer. The emptiness and light-headedness suited him more, he'd decided. Nevertheless, he would need to do something about it this time. Getting out of bed that morning nearly had caused him to black out, as he'd risen too quickly. Sighing once more for good measure and attempting to swipe his scraggly long hair back out of his eyes, he stood--slowly--from his window seat. His hands were shaking when he raised them, but he still managed, and he duplicated his current image once more. He realized too late that this clone would look the same, of course, as the one whose throat he'd crushed.

Loki froze for seconds upon seconds, watching the dull gaze of the construction before him, and on some level he fully expected it to lunge out at him, grip him at the neck and _\--_

Loki shook his head quickly, stomping out the thought before it transferred to the clone and became a living nightmare. The artificial intelligence they produced was not above turning on him if the very idea was something he were to dwell on.

“Go directly to the kitchens and bring back food. Do _not_ speak to anyone. Do not even dare to cross Thor's path, as he may follow you back here.”

He refused to let Thor see any more of him as he was now, too thin and with skin like paper, unstable limbs and even more unstable thoughts. If he could ever bring himself to run away, leave his brother's home for good, then he would, but the idea of leaving Thor for a third time did not sit well with him. Thor, out of pain and loneliness and just plain stubbornness would no doubt take off in search for him, and Loki was not keen on spending the rest of his years being hunted by an upset Thunderer. He even still despised that he didn't have the courage to put Thor through losing him again. _“I am, in a way, heartless. In that I have not the heart to make him hate me any more than he already must.”_

The clone had gone, but Loki was able to track its progress through an invisible thread of seidr, making the clone his third eye of sorts. There was a handheld mirror on his mantle that he used for this purpose; it was triangular with a delicate gold frame, and small enough to more or less conceal in one palm. He went to it now, his fingers contact with its lightly dusted surface causing it to come to life, and instead of a simple mirror it became a projector, bringing up an image before him, floating in mid-air; any images the clone saw. He would watch through the eyes of the clone now.

~

It moved exactly as he would--but without the burden of his current physical weaknesses, at a moderate pace with long strides, graceful and purposeful. It nodded to the few passing guards it encountered, just a singular, simple nod, and they were none the wiser. The halls were mostly empty, vast and golden as always, shining with the daylight and causing footsteps to echo in the vaulted overhangs and ceilings. Reaching the royal kitchens was easy enough. Loki mentally directed the clone to pick up what he wanted as he saw it, and soon they had gathered up a variety of cheeses and fruits, a couple of slices of sweet breads.

Loki had not been paying attention to the time, or rather, he had lost track of it.

The clone froze in place around the corner to the food stores just as Thor could be heard further down the hall, coming inside from a sparring session, and he was not alone. Loki froze as well, in his room with his magical vantage point. On one hand he wanted to stay still and hope he were not noticed, but that would be unlikely, as Thor of course loved to eat something after being outdoors for so long...

But this almost made Loki want to be seen. See if Thor would even dare eat in front of him with him looking how he did; the clone he sent still looked to be in just the same condition as he currently was. That was the other problem. He truly, truly did not want to be detected, looked at, _pitied..._ not by Thor. Anyone but Thor.

No, that wasn't right either.

Thor was definitely not alone, but he was not in a group, he was with Sif. He would not stand to be pitied by her either. Especially not by the both of them  _together._ The mere recognition of her voice sent such stabs of irritation up Loki's spine that he almost let go of his link to the clone, and then who knew what it would do.

“Just take the one bowl and slip away quickly, they will not even see us.” He whispered, and the clone did place down most of its armfuls and move, but Thor and Sif had advanced faster than expected.

“Loki!....Loki are you alright?” Thor called to him instantly. Naturally.

The clone froze because Loki couldn't get a grip on what he wanted to say—he had seen Sif's arm looped in Thor's just before Thor had stepped closer and she'd let go. Now he couldn't stop staring at them both, the perfect vision of them, their skin aglow with the renewed tan the morning sunlight had brought. And Loki, he knew the sight he made. He was but a wisp of smoke, easily blown away as of late. Sometimes it felt like all that remained of him in the slightest was a persistently sharp silver tongue, which consistently allowed him to retain some of his biting demeanor even when he wanted to crumble.

“Let me by, I have no need of your sun-baked attempts at small-talk. I'm fine.” Loki snapped through the clone's obedient lips, and was on his way, quickly, with nothing more than a small bowl of cheeses in hand. He'd gotten nearly ten yards distance when Thor's heavy footsteps followed him.

“No...no you are not fine, Loki stop.” Thor was calling to him, and Sif behind him, saying to 'leave him be, as he wishes'. He couldn't blame her for that. Had he been in her place, of course he would say the same, if only in order to keep Thor's full attention. Loki soon realized his heart was pounding with anticipation at the faint notion that Thor could see through that perfectly made clone—know that it was an illusion. Could he, still?

“Can my brother, even still, see me?” He'd said it out loud, but luckily the clone had not. It was smarter than that. Perhaps Thor should not be able to know a clone when he saw it, they were growing to be fearsomely independent... 

Thor had reached out to turn the paused clone around by the shoulders, and Loki, in his room, alone, still shook because he knew what the touch felt like. Looking through his clone's eyes he could stare at Thor as much as he wanted without fear of betraying any depth of just how unstable he felt lately, and how pent up and uneasy and  _absolutely insane_ at times, so badly that it hurt to bother waking up.

“Loki if you do not eat more than that soon, I will make you.” Thor often said such things, even when they were little children. It always made Loki want to smack him across the face, make it sting like his condescension (and how Loki knew what 'feeling beneath' felt like at so young an age, he never did understand).

He remembered the first time he lashed out with his tiny hand and slapped Thor right across his chubby tanned cheek, leaving a bright red mark that Loki found fascinating in contrast with Thor's yellow hair. Thor sat down and wailed so loudly that Frigga came running even though they were already in the company and care of six maids. He wailed so constantly that Loki sat down and hollered for awhile too, because if Thor was down, then he had nothing else to give attention to. But then, afterward, for days, Loki would tease him about having made that mark there. And then after a bit longer, Thor had turned the story around and proclaimed boldly to his friends about getting a 'battle wound'. Loki didn't seem to understand that Thor was calling him a worthy opponent, just like that, right from the start.

And even now, he only understood this in the smallest capacity. He was the only one who could ever hurt Thor the most, he _knew_. But Thor was not a boy anymore, and he wasn't hurt the way that a child was. Or even a normal being. Hurting Thor was worse, now that they were both so much further beyond their beginnings. The simultaneous satisfaction and humiliation he associated with his place in Thor's life was just a form of slow-burning torture, seemingly designed purely to polarize him to the point where he couldn't tell up from down. This was where he found himself now, made nothing because of Thor and wanting him to be gone and stay far away, but then still wanting nothing _but_ Thor, his company and attention, even Thor's rage, for without that, he had forgotten his own nature and the thrills it used to bring him.

And Loki's past actions, every single one of them hurt Thor, but Loki never felt a true sting of punishment back from him. Not anymore.

Frigga's loss had only been the Norns Themselves cursing him far worse and far more readily than Thor ever would; it was retribution brought on by his own foolishness rather than hate or rejection from those who mattered most. Now he feared he'd eventually feel nothing, give nothing and receive nothing, and for the life of him he could not let that happen, even if confusion and his own shattered sense of self-worth were the only emotions left that had any real weight, besides the constant dull ache of mourning the past.

Thor was looking at the clone too intently now, and Loki realized he had completely lost focus. Lack of food could do that to any mind, no matter how calculating and quick it had been in health. His magic responded in turn and cut off his sight to Thor through the clone, and he immediately panicked, trying to force the seidr connection back to life, but the sparks faltered at his hands, and that clone was now out there alone with Thor.

Loki did not--could not--trust seidr completely without his personal touch on it, but even scarier was that he currently did not trust himself, let alone a copy dependent on his mental state.

He was running for the door, his heart in his throat, but the door opened before he got anywhere near the handle. There stood Thor, the bowl of cheeses in hand.

Mildly cursing under his breath, Loki halted and just stood there, his eyes flickering in uneasy glances to the spaces behind Thor, needing a glimpse of the clone. “You...you have the food, so where is that thing? Did it vanish?” Loki impatiently asked as Thor slowly stepped through the doorframe, hesitating.

“What thing?” Thor asked back, and Loki's face blanched impossibly paler.

“ _You_ are--the-”

“I am what? Loki, I brought you this food, you seemed so ill.”

Loki could honestly say that had never truly, genuinely been afraid of Thor at any point in their long years. Intimidated, yes. Impressed, maybe a little shaken up, yes. But afraid? No. Never. But his own clone having taken the form of Thor without his permission had struck a strange fear into him that he hadn't known himself capable of feeling. The Loki-clone turned Thor-clone kept advancing toward him, and Loki automatically stumbled back, _away,_ trying to sort out what was happening before things got too unpredictable. He forced his mind to form logic in place of irrationality and ended up having to admit that yes, he had indeed wanted Thor to come back with the clone.

But Thor had not. When he lost connection to the clone, the clone tried to fulfill his wish by itself.

“Did Thor see you like this?” Loki had been going for a demanding tone, but it came out as a quavering whisper. He realized he'd backed all the way to the wall, and 'Thor' came close, still holding the food, smiling down at him kindly, with the same gentle, reassuring expression the real Thor would probably wear if he saw Loki this unnerved without cause. It was just that Loki believed he did have cause. He still could not control what the clone was doing—it was stuck on his last desire. Thor. Reassuring. Leaving Sif to come to him. With food.

Loki wanted to roll his eyes at himself and make the clone disappear at once, but he definitely could not at the moment, no matter how hard he willed it. Instead, he took a few deep breaths and stood up straighter, trying to re-dignify his appearance by fussily smoothing his hair out of his face again—and dignity still escaped him. Standing up straight immediately caused a dizzy spell and he pitched forward against 'Thor', who held him up with one arm, and trying to shove away was absolutely no use. Loki was held stable, the cheese bowl was put down on a nearby surface and before he knew it the clone was carrying him.

“I will take you to the healing wing if you do not eat.” It was like Thor's voice could burn him. It was too  _real._

“Put...me _down._ ” He insisted with as much sternness as he could manage with his vision still spotty.

He was placed in bed readily, and the bowl of food conveniently in his lap.

~

Feeling like a prisoner in his own room and of his own foolish doing, Loki ate, slowly, staring at the image of Thor watching him back so serenely.

“Even if you aren't really you, you're infuriating.” Loki ventured with his mouth full. The clone made a very Thor-like rumble of cheeky agreement and Loki almost grinned. _Almost._

“I will ask you this just once. Where did Thor actually go?”

“I don't understand. It is me.”

Loki abruptly stopped eating and put down the food, scooting to sit on the edge of the bed and face this false image sitting on a bedside stool. With just a small bit of sustenance in him he did feel more sorted out, and the familiar pulse of his magic thankfully tingled just underneath his skin. Still, Thor's image did not waver.

“You think you know what I want, do you, Thor?” If this Thor would not simply go away, then it would be toyed with until the message was clear. This was not Thor, and he would make it know that it was not Thor. The grin that finally stretched across Loki's face was nothing short of sick, and he knew it.

“You are feeling better?” 'Thor' asked.

“Mmh, yes. Now...'brother', what do you think I should do with myself now? No...better yet, what would you want me to do now that I finally ate something and am feeling better? Do you truly _want_ me feeling better, Thor? Are you sure?” Maybe he could make the clone recall what had happened to the other clones and it would come to its artificial senses. But then again, two clones had been treated horribly, but one clone had had the fuck of its life literally. Which illusory experience would win out, he really was curious.

'Thor' hadn't answered yet, only blinked a few times, but Loki _pushed_ , leaning toward cruelty as he was wont to do. 

“You don't want me better, Thor. You want to hurt me.” Loki stated it slowly, quietly, without hesitation or fear. “You want to hit me. Hit me so hard I see stars, Thor, make me see the abyss of the cosmos again, won't you Thor?? _Hit me!_ ” He wasn't aware his voice had risen to a shout until he was standing, his fists clenched white-knuckle tight, and the Thor stared up at him wide-eyed and innocent. Loki, for all the boiling of his blood, he forced himself to do nothing else but stand still as ice for a long while before speaking again.

“Just...hate me. Why can't you do that?” He closed his eyes and waited for the revenge he hoped with every fiber in his being would actually come. His mind wouldn't even see this as 'false' anymore, he didn't quite care, he just wanted to see and feel and _live_ the experience of Thor's anger upon him, hot and wild like it used to be, before Thor was so incredibly stupid as to _forgive_ him _again._

Loki, with his eyes shut, heard Thor's copy stand up, just knew it must be pulling back a fist, and he swore for sure that splintering pain would come next and he welcomed it like a twisted gift, but...Thor's hands cradled his face, Thor's body pressed in close, Thor's breath mingled with his, and Loki was sighing into a kiss. Groaning into it like it hurt. It was disorienting and dizzying and Loki's hands were gripping his cloned brother's shirt and his legs were giving out on him because  _this—_ this was the absolute worst stab in the heart he could ever receive from Thor, and it was absolute perfection beyond what he'd ever dared to imagine. Until it stopped. The loss of the warm lips ached instantly and Loki inhaled sharply when the clone stepped back, and then just as sharply, next, was the hit he'd first asked for.

The blow was solid, mind-numbing, and very, very intensely Thor. Thor on the battlefield.

Loki's fear came back ten-fold and left him reeling until hitting the floor made him blink his eyes back into focus and he was staring down at a mouthful of blood from his split open lip. He couldn't move, would not have time to if he tried, but he let out a singular huff of disbelief, nearly a laugh, in contradiction of his very real terror. His mind was running again, a mile a minute; he wanted the hit, but he hadn't known he needed that kiss. Had he? A clone was a realization of his will. They always had been. Even if that one was locked into becoming Thor, it only had in it to do things he wanted at some point in time.

Only a couple of seconds had passed since he'd fallen from the assault, but his bedroom door was banging open again—and there stood Thor. Real Thor. With Mjolnir, no less. Loki automatically felt himself hazily complaining about how melodramatic Thor was being, bringing the hammer into this, but he knew the drama must seem necessary. He was lying on the floor bleeding and a doppelganger of Thor was standing over him ready to make him bleed some more.

...It was all over when Thor made one threatening move forward, Mjolnir buzzing a warning in his fist, and the clone seemed to realize very quickly that it was indeed not Thor. It vanished instantly, and Loki exhaled as adrenaline left him, leaving him boneless, and he rolled to his back on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling until Thor blocked his view. He heard the heavy 'clang' of Mjolnir hitting the floor beside them and Thor was sitting him up, wearing a pained expression, calling his name until Loki remembered he was supposed to answer. “I'm fine...” His voice was shaking. He berated himself as horribly as he could in his head. The tingle of the kiss still lingered on his lips long after Thor wiped all the blood away.

~~

“I don't wish to talk about it. It is none of your business what happened.” Loki told Thor, breaking the long silence that stretched between Thor cleaning him up far too tenderly and then getting him to sit still and quiet on the bed, Thor beside him, presence overbearing as it harshly invaded all the solitude he'd become accustomed to.

“You do not have to talk about it.” Well that was very not like Thor, Loki thought, until, “...I heard the entire thing. I was listening outside until I heard your cry after it hit you.”

Loki froze. _“I...cried out?”_ He hadn't realized. The strike had been hard enough to blacken his vision for a moment. Maybe, if he were very, very fortunate, Thor hadn't interpreted that gap of relative silence before it that was their kiss. But oh, he'd moaned into that... Perhaps it was just ridiculous enough a concept that Thor could not tell what it had been--

“Loki...your clones, they carry out your intentions. Always.” Thor began, cutting off Loki's hectic thoughts. Loki didn't want to watch Thor struggling to find appropriate wording and the like, but he couldn't help but stare. Yet, he couldn't interpret Thor's emotions like usual, either. It was causing an entire different type of fear in him, and he was now discovering far too many new fears concerning Thor to be tolerated in one day. Thor finally continued after what felt like forever. “Loki I always have known that you believe you don't deserve forgiveness, no matter how long it's been. But do you truly wish for me to hurt you that way? With my own hands, while you will not fight back?”

Loki sighed heavily in relief.

 _“Of course...there is no possible way he could have_ heard _that kiss.._ ” His thoughts still managed to try to console him. But Thor was still speaking.

“...And if that is what you wish me to do... do you believe I could kiss you that way if I were to make you bleed afterward?”

Loki knew his heart had stopped. Right then and there he could drop dead of heart failure and not ever, ever have to face this conversation. He'd had yet to even have the conversation with himself.

He was across the room, as far away from Thor as possible before he could blink. Apparently his magic was back at full strength, just as quickly as it had betrayed him and caused this entire mess.

“Get out...” Not good enough, he had barely heard himself. “Get out!” He said it louder before he could even look and see Thor protesting. He wasn't getting very good breaths now, it was as if his throat was closing in, just like if a hand were squeezing around it. He was leaning on the wall, gasping for breaths through veils of tears because he couldn't see a way out of this nightmare if even his own beloved magic had caused this. “Get out, get out, _get out, Thor--_ ” His desperate mantra was useless but it kept coming out until he could hear nothing but his own voice screaming at him how incredibly fantastically fucked up he was for doing this to himself. But he was still audibly screaming at Thor, ruined and defeated and insistent screaming for Thor to just please, please disappear _._ Never seeing Thor again would hurt less than having Thor stare at him in distaste like he surely must be and _should_ be.

Thor was touching him again, pulling him up off of the wall where he'd begun to curl in on himself in self-loathing and hysteria.

“Loki.”

Loki had always hated that tone Thor used, saying his name like that. Like he liked to say it and enjoyed its sound, the familiarity of the syllables on his tongue. “Loki.” Thor said it again, closer to him, Loki could tell while still refusing to open his eyes. He hated it, hated how Thor said it the same way he said the word 'home'.

He hissed in discomfort when pulled against Thor's chest, because how, how, _how could he--_ no--how dare he still be the kind and noble and warm heart that he always was? Loki went motionless, nearly limp in Thor's arms because he was angry at himself for everything, everything that he ever was and that they both were, yet Thor was attempting to mend this pain with a kiss to his forehead, slow and firm, then another right beside one of Loki's still stubbornly shut eyes, and finally, Thor's kiss landed just at the corner of his mouth, and it was better than the full on kiss of the imitation.

“I do not know what this is.” Thor told him quietly, holding him still and solidly as if not convinced Loki was stable enough to let go of yet. It was probably true. “...But we can find out what this is, in time. If you would like.” Loki stayed silent, but steeled himself enough to regain proper footing and stand upright. His head still hung bowed in mortification, forehead resting on Thor's shoulder, but he still could not look up or even make himself form proper thoughts. It was all he could do to just stand there and breathe calmly, imitate a sane being, and swallow down the rich scent of Thor's closeness—sun, spices you'd use on fine meats, metal, sky infused with electric blue—and he hoped this intimate proximity could last as long as his fits of mental torture always seemed to, but Thor let go of him all too soon.

“I will go. I'll...go.” Thor's voice was quiet and deep, and Loki opened his mouth to speak but couldn't form a word. At long last, Thor had even taken his silver tongue. Of course he had.

When he did finally look up, Thor had gone. Loki stared for a long time at the gentle indent Mjolnir had left in the floortiles. He knew that Mjolnir's weight was perfectly capable of not causing any damage at all if Thor and Mjolnir did not wish it. That simple indent meant that Thor had truly been ready to use it to defend him. In Loki's mind, any urge to protect the likes of himself should've still been impossible, no matter how real the danger was. His split lip was still throbbing in pain now, reminding him of just how dangerous his clones could actually be to him. And he knew he'd deserved to be hit, and Thor had to know he did, yet still. Thor's kind-to-the-core disposition insisted on protecting him. Loki chewed on the split until it bled again, undoing all Thor's gentle care. He was undeserving of it. And then, licking at his own blood, he still had the gall to think of the kiss, and _want._

He needed that feeling in the same way he'd felt when he'd taken himself in bed and wanted to be underneath another, just like the clone was underneath him. The yearning for that closeness surged back with all its strength, even past the trauma of this day's events, and it needled at him for minutes and minutes until seidr sparked at his fingertips maddeningly and he wanted to simply  _be without hands_ , he so hated what their abilities made him do. He couldn't even help it now, and that was so pathetic of him that he couldn't even be bothered to dwell on it but so much, but there, he'd done it. He'd recreated the Thor clone.

“The only reason you even showed up and caused all of this was because _I wanted you to._ Deep down, I must have, and now—now it's all I feel.” He told Thor's face.

It was all fake, all lies while he had Thor's hands grip bruises into his hipbones, and he tangled his own shaking hands in the imitation of blonde hair and kissed the false lips until his blood was smeared all over them, and being pinned to the floor underneath false weight became too much. He lost all his nerve when this imitation began to undress him, and making Thor vanish again took so much effort it made his heart hurt when he laid there alone again, gasping for a clean breath.

“I really am cursed. I am cursed and it's my own spells that have done it.” He mumbled blankly to the ceiling. Then, in a far delayed afterthought, he realized that there were a couple of clear possibilities for what had happened when his magic had stopped his view to the clone's eyesight. Thor either was in the process of following the clone anyway, without realizing it was one at first, or he had seen through the ruse, followed, and actually seen it take his likeness before entering the room. Either way, Thor had to have seen the deception in progress, but had chosen to listen in rather than clear it up immediately. 

Loki, despite his well-piqued interest in the answer, was unsure how he felt about that.

~~~~

 


	4. Chapter 4

~~~~

In nearly every realm, the superstition was the same. Even in Midgard. To see one's double in real life was thought by many to be a harbinger of bad luck. In his current downward spiral of near delirium and certainly denial in the purest form, he saw them. Himself, everywhere: In the distance when he watched Asgard's crowded streets, down empty hallways. Behind him in reflections from glass windows. The anxiety it caused him had created yet another bad habit to fall prey to. His lip still had not healed, as he constantly chewed and worried it until it bled anew.

He couldn't deny the perfectly plain symbolism.

Each day, he re-opened the fresh reminder of that damned kiss, and he picked apart its memory until the pain of it was reborn, fresh and bleeding.

He was able to avoid seeing Thor at all for exactly three days, before a royal event arose to force his presence and attention.

“You must come.” Thor spoke to him through his adamantly shut door. “We do not have to...speak on present troubles....if you can not, or will not. But you must come.”

Loki had bitten down too hard, then, just as he heard the sound of Thor's footsteps leaving, and the taste of blood filled his mouth, and soon he could feel it dribbling down his chin.

He did not want to face a mirror, clean himself up. Not just yet. He did not have control over the things his eyes would see, and the memories of images of himself haunting the corners of his bedroom, behind him in the reflection, would yet keep him awake at night, most likely. He allowed himself to bleed, even while in his mind he tried to think up some presentable outfit to wear for this public function Thor insisted on seeing him attend.

~

The feast was mostly a social event for Asgardian realm officials; members of palace staff and Thor's ring of more general advisers, warriors, and realm teachers would be present. Loki tended to see such things as frivolous, as they were merely an excuse to gossip and worsen situations on a variety of levels due to century old disagreements and rifts between factions. Loki supposed Thor saw to change that during his rule though, and was working for these things to promote camaraderie and boost morale, unifying and uplifting.

Loki adorned himself in black and gold that fit him too loosely, and ignored the throbbing pain both in his mouth and at his head while he forced himself to open his door and leave.

As he made for the banquet halls and had not yet encountered the traffic of feast-goers, he briefly considered attempting a glamor of some sort, anything to stave off the concerned gasps and disapproving staring he was sure to attract if he walked in like this; he had a black cloth of fabric with him as a handkerchief which he held at his lip to staunch the blood, because he knew he would not stop agitating it, but surely he could not walk around constantly bleeding. Besides, he could not permanently force it to heal with magic, and his lack of sustenance had slowed the rate at which a wound would properly clot. He'd recently broken the cut and thus it would bleed for hours even if he were to leave it alone.

He stopped and stood there in the hall, hunched shoulders and arm crossed closely across himself in insecurity while his other hand kept the cloth over his mouth steady.

“ _Sif will be there...”_

Loki realized suddenly that she would likely be Thor's date, and he felt his blood run colder than it already was. Before he knew it he was pacing back in forth, not advancing down the empty hall but instead staring at his footsteps, trying to make himself focus and stop fretting long enough to make a decision on how to function through the evening without self-destructing.

Ah, perhaps that was it. In order to not self destruct, he would make sure he kept an eye on himself rather than dying a slow death having to exist in the same room as Thor for longer than he had bothered to in months.

In the back of his mind he knew it would cause a huge, huge distraction, and Thor would most definitely disapprove, and he'd inspire a whole new wave of whispers and stories and legends and rumors concerning the eerie quality of his now infamous clones. And, he thought to himself that this might be an interesting night yet.

“Be good, and I may have you again tonight when this is over.” He told his new 'date' once it was formed. 

Before him now stood the exact same replica from the other night, beautifully striking and still in red—long, flowing red sorcerer's robes this time so it would be appropriate for the public's eyes. The neckline of the garment plunged dramatically, and Loki found himself actually grinning, genuinely, as he gazed at his favorite clone. He instantly magicked up a thin gold chain with a jeweled red pendant to adorn its neck and briefly tucked away the cloth for his lip so he could come in close to put on the jewelry, then watched its eyes for reaction. It gave a silent smile, then took a single step closer and was suddenly kissing him unprovoked.

At first Loki flinched at the contact with his mouth, then relaxed when the clone's hands soothingly came up to his waist. He closed his eyes to the soft press of those lips again, reached up to admiringly touch the long soft hair. His clones never had a scent, but he could almost imagine it somehow as he indulged in their closeness, catching a phantom aroma almost like the ozone in Thor's storms, but warmer--undoubtedly infused with his own touch--spiced wine and too hot seidr and something sweet.

When the clone pulled away, Loki gasped lightly as he watched its secretive smile, green eyes a bit too knowing for a mere duplicate. Loki suddenly recalled that he should be terrified of all his clones by now, even this one which he so enjoyed, but when he instinctively nibbled his lip, it was completely healed.

His next gasp was more sharp, and he stepped backward, then again forward, inspecting the clone and its face, and again the look in its eyes. All calm, and lovely, and disturbingly beautiful still.

“You...should not be able to do that. You are _from_  my magic, but how did you _use_ my magic that way, of your own accord?” He questioned. It made a tiny shake of its head, as if Loki had asked it something beyond its programming. Well of course he had; if he didn't know the answer, than neither could it. At least that was how it was supposed to work.

His clone came to his side and linked arms with him, urging him along silently, and Loki went, still staring in disbelief, but unsure of whether he should be more properly unnerved.

~

Whispers and speechless stares caused an immediate commotion throughout the hall as the people gradually noticed Loki's entrance, and Loki did not react at all; he only kept walking, letting them move out of his way as he navigated the room, making his way to the center where most of the groups were gathered to be nearer to their king, Thor. The clone clung to his arm and walked more gracefully than even he, and Loki found himself welling up with pride at the shock and attention his gorgeous copy garnered. Fear and awe and confusion rippled throughout the room and it was so glorious that Loki had almost forgotten what this felt like, to do something seemingly simple, at least for him, and revel in the wake of its impact, for joy's sake.

He nearly felt strengthened by it, and despite the wafting aromas of the feasts expertly prepared dinner courses, he then and there made up his mind that he would still refuse to eat any of it. He did not need it. Not when everyone around him saw him as a spectacle and would be eying him for a sign of normality. He would not grant it to them. He would not grant it to Thor either.

Thor caught sight of him and stood up sharply, staring with his blue eyes huge and inquiring, and Loki saw that Thor had been keeping the seat beside him purposely empty. Loki coolly gestured to the clone on his arm as he got closer to the table, then stood and waited. In his mind, if he could manage to continue his act of being withdrawn and unaffected, then the burning press of the memory of Thor's touch and kiss would not see him fleeing from the room in shame. Thor hesitated, stunted in his motions as he tried to adjust to the situation, and Sif was seated on his other side so he requested that the person beside the empty seat for Loki make extra room, as Loki refused to sit down without a place for the duplicate.

“Loki...have you gone mad?”

“Yes.”

Silence followed as Loki sat, drawing the clone down gently beside him, directing it inbetween himself and Thor. Thor did stare uncomfortably, and the absolute lack of words made Loki praise himself for this decision.

_'If he cannot speak_ _for shock over the clone_ _, then he cannot bring up what happened. He could never. And he will understand now that he could not have meant what he said... 'we can find out what this is in time'....lies.'_

Loki took a jug of mead from the center of the table and sipped it, ignoring the food readily stacked in front of him by servant hands at sight of his arrival.

~

As their evening dragged on and Thor got done with required talks and chats with various Asgardian officials, he again had to return to his seat beside the clone and Loki; hours later and they had not moved all evening. By then Loki was deep into his cups, without having touched so much as a grape, and his mind was so fogged that he did not understand how the clone was still present. It clung to him still, right against his side, staring at things on the table and watching Loki drink, but never saying a word, not just yet. Loki supposed that fucking the life out of it made it vanish far sooner than if it were left alone, then. He sighed heavily as he turned to gaze into its eyes as they watched him back, and the temptation to make an absolute spectacle of himself by publicly making out with it was nearly overwhelming. He leaned in, hesitant, and the clone did not move forward or away. That small smile only graced its features again, tempting and willing and seductive. Loki could not make himself smile back just now though, because Thor was sitting down cautiously behind it.

“Loki...we must leave. The clone and your appearance are all anyone is speaking about.” He whispered, even daring to lean closer over the clone to speak nearer to Loki directly. Loki let himself smirk at that.

“Oh I am quite enjoying myself...you cannot presume to just kick us out.” He watched Thor's brow furrow at the 'us'.

“I am not kicking y—have you eaten?” Thor asked, staring down at Loki's very full plate, and Loki only chuckled a bit at that, going back to his mug of wine.

“Please, Loki... Look at me. Speak with me if you will not come away from here with me. Please.”

That got Loki's attention. Why had he had to phrase it that way?

Reacting to the drawn attention on Loki's end, the clone reached up to touch in Thor's hair, and Loki immediately moved, slamming his cup down and quickly drawing his copy's arms down by its sides, holding it still though it couldn't help but lean toward Thor, helplessly drawn in. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea after all; the damn thing was like a living breathing betrayal of his actual mood. To Thor, he couldn't stop the outright glare, even as he pulled the clone back against him, wrapping arms around it to keep its attention on himself alone.

“Are you not comfortable with my clone here, Thor? Oh....that does remind me...Why are you so concerned about the danger of them, or the oddity of them, when you certainly allowed the clone wearing your face to come in to me, yes?” The hurt and irritation in Loki's voice was not very well disguised and he cursed his looseness of tongue brought on by the drink.

Thor looked instantly apologetic, and vastly uncomfortable, and Loki gave himself a point of victory. The blond king scooted still closer to Loki and the clone, even glancing at it as if apologizing to it as well. They could feel a great many pairs of eyes watching them intently, either amazed by the dramatics of it or simply waiting for an outburst of some sort of royal drama. Loki had ceased to care what it looked like, with himself practically holding the clone in front of him like a buffer to Thor's hospitality and kindness. He knew he looked to be the definition of true instability. He sat there starving and sick, holding onto an image of his perfect self thrust up to block Thor out. He _knew_ what he looked like, and yet, he couldn't stop any of it. 

“I should not have...I--” Thor stumbled for words, and Sif was paying very close attention now, though she showed enough discretion to not turn completely around to face them. Thor reached out then, laying a hand on the clone's shoulder—which the clone leaned into instinctively—and then to Loki's, squeezing his hand on Loki's for emphasis. “I will take you...both...back to your room. We can speak there. _Please._ When the morning comes you will be glad that you did.”

When Loki finally stood, he pulled the clone up with him by the hand, trying to blink clear his vision from doubling at the same time. Needless to say, even before he'd come here he'd been close to collapsing for lack of proper food, and with the added handicap of alcohol merely thinking about moving was a chore. Thor leaned to speak a goodbye to Sif, smiling with her and sharing a quick smile about something Loki couldn't hear, and Loki had to avert his gaze and stare at the patterns carved into the wooden table. At his side, his clone loyally pressed closer to him, an attentive and silent shadow. He couldn't help but despise even Thor's goodbyes to Sif. They were filled with familiarity and ease and good cheer--something he hadn't had with Thor in decades.

When Thor moved to walk them out, his face was stiff and stern, and he took both Loki and the clone's arms individually, walking out with them in a casual manner, even though no amount of cavalier graciousness could stop the onlookers from gaping or turning to their neighbor to whisper and scandalize. Loki wondered what frightful tales parents would relay back to their children on this night, of how the reclusive second prince escorted a vision of himself to a feast, a vision whose head turned sharply to stare at anyone who spoke in hushed tones of its beauty, even if they were across the room and thought themselves out of earshot. The clone watched them all for him, even while he had not the courage or will to look.

~

Walking back to his room with Thor, he thought back to earlier years when he knew Thor would have, and could have by every right yanked both him and his copy up by the arms and dragged them forcibly from the banquet, possibly shouting at them for good measure. He could have had them kicked out by guards, and not even given a personal touch to it, as soon as it was plain that Loki would be intent on making a scene. But no, Thor had grown so much since then. Loki stared at Thor's profile while Thor led them, and it was clear to see that Thor was a true king now, patient and powerful and fair and strong, firm in his stances yet keen to public needs.

Loki felt that centuries old urge to slap him again. But Thor's hand holding his arm and guiding him seemed to burn his skin, as it was full of concern and care, never true disdain or shame. At Thor's other side the clone walked obediently, the perfect arm decoration, cooperative and classy, like a moving showcase. Loki suddenly wanted to slap him too.

It. He wanted to slap 'It'.

He startled himself with how fond he'd grown of viewing this one particular clone as a true companion. It turned to glance at him just then, and he averted his gaze. Not wanting to be made a fool of by his own Image, he yanked his arm out of Thor's hold, even if it hadn't been a tight or unkind one, and he re-linked his arm in Thor's, forcing himself to focus well enough to stand straight and walk steadily, willingly with Thor's gait. No matter what false grace he was able to muster up now, a private talk in his quarters could only be disastrous--he didn't see how it would end up any other way. 

~~~~

 


End file.
